– How Prospecting in Alaska Sparked a New Chapter in My Life –

Twenty years ago, I was neck-deep in the high-tech business world… a geek in a suit traveling 35 weeks a year. My business partner and I were riding a great wave of success but it was taking a toll on us. We had to find some new adventure.

The result of our search was both unexpected and unforgettable. That adventure was covered over by a couple decades of new ones, but it’s a memory that survives the passing of time.

Prospecting in Alaska

Kenny was looking for something different to do and stumbled across an advertisement for week-long prospecting trips in Alaska. His father had wanted to pan for gold since he was a young man stationed in the Aleutians during World War II. A few GIs traveled north and sluiced for gold but, like a lot of us, Ken Sr. procrastinated right past the opportunity. Fifty years later,  Kenny started looking for a way to make that dream happen for his dad. Long story short – he found out about the mining camp and we talked about signing up.

“It looks like a construction site,” I said.

“Shitty looking for sure and it ain’t cheap,” said Kenny.

“Racks in shacks,” I said. “Can’t possibly be expensive.”

“It’s like a little town on the shore of the Bering Sea,” he said. “Maybe a hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle. Then you add the flights, 4-wheelers, nights in Anchorage bracketing the trip…”

“Can’t tell by looking,” I said, “but that might be an adventure.”

“Ask your dad if he wants to go,” said Kenny. “We’ll make it a father-and-son thing all around.”

So we did… Kenny and me and our dads.

We had so much fun that it became an annual event; we took customers and friends, and I invited my brother Frank. For four years, we returned to Cripple River in the summer to escape city life and indulge our need for adventure.

Cripple River Mining Camp

The camp was north of Nome, Alaska at the confluence of the Cripple River with the Bering Sea. It was organized and managed by the Gold Prospectors Association of America. I didn’t know there was such a thing, but it had a solid following across the country. Mostly older folks; some still working but a lot of them retired. It was an Outdoor Channel kind of place and its members were mostly from the older half of that demographic.

They had meetings and expeditions in California, Colorado, the Carolinas… pretty much anyplace where they could look for gold. It was fun to get some color in your pan, spend time under the trees by a river, and sleep out under the stars. The GPAA’s most popular prospecting spot was the Cripple River Camp in Alaska.

We climbed in the back of a monster truck for the ride from the Nome airport to camp. The terrain was essentially featureless; nondescript tundra for as far as you could see to the right, the shoreline in front of us, and the Bering Sea stretched out on the left. An hour or so later, we unloaded near a collection of plywood shacks. A dozen or more formed the main street; crew lived in those for the season.

Out back were the bunkhouses for visitors.

Camp offered only the basics in the way of meals or accommodation, but you could sluice for gold and fish for salmon… and rent four-wheelers to explore the wilderness near the Arctic Circle.

“It’s a mining claim; not a resort,” Kenny said. “Just happens to be open to the public. Not the general public, mind you; you got to be a member of the GPAA.”

No hotel, no restaurant; just a chow hall with a wall full of dried and canned foods. They cooked breakfast and supper. It seemed like most of the people at camp were working there and guests were pretty much on their own.

Experiencing Alaska

We did everything we were allowed to do at Cripple River Mining Camp, especially the first year. The whole crew attended a couple workshops and learned how to pan for gold. I set up sluice boxes on the beach, shoveled material and checked the riffles for color, and talked with prospectors who had more experience and intent.

Salmon poured into the river from the sea… just like on the Discovery Channel. We walked along the water and fished.

Everyone was licensed and practiced ‘catch-and-release’, although a limit was allowed for every angler’s personal needs. One of our annual rituals was riding up for a night at the Sinuk River.

The Sinuk spilled into the sea a little less than ten miles north of camp but felt much further, even more remote. It wasn’t the edge of the world, but you could see the edge from there.

We’d stack long pieces of driftwood into wind breaks and use the small stuff to build fires. Slow and easy to settle in… leaning back from the restriction of time. It had that stargate feeling to me. When the day rolled over, the sky got confused and mist rose up from the river.

There was a small sand spit at the confluence that curled and narrowed; you could taste freshwater with your right hand and saltwater with your left. There were traces of man but nothing recent, just a couple simple structures in the mist.

Looking back, that trip sparked a dormant desire… a need, or maybe just a want. I loved being in the wild and wanted more of the experience. Longer and deeper, and with fewer people. Subconsciously, I guess – in hindsight or for the sake of storytelling – it marked the upcoming end of one chapter and set the storyline for the next one.

The Good Stuff

The things we did between prospecting and fishing filled in the long summer days. Tundra looked pretty easy until you got out in it, and you didn’t see much of the wildlife until it got close. The scale of things, the great bigness of Alaska was disorienting at first. One minute, you’re riding a little trail through willow bushes that were thick to your hip. Next minute, a grizzly – not a cub, but not big enough to be grouchy – stands up.

Around the corner, the brush opened up to expose a musk ox feeding in the river.

One thing nobody expected to see was Kenny and me and our dads skinny-dipping in the Bering Sea. On the last night of the week, they opened up the saloon for karaoke fun… everyone drank and sang and danced. But it never really got dark. When we came out about midnight, the sky was light and the weather warm, and it occurred to us that we should commemorate the trip with a swim. A midnight swim – naked in the Bering Sea. Unforgettable.

We spent lots of nights around fires on the beach. That kind of wilderness contact was so relaxing once you assimilated. Mankind has spent most of its time close to nature and right up under the stars, which is why beach fires that far from everything satisfy a primal need (even when it’s light out after midnight).

Ken Sr. became known as ‘Klondike’ on that trip. That’s how I addressed him for the rest of his life. I shared many more good times with Klondike before he died. My dad died a few years later. I can’t be sure, but would bet that those trips… those adventures… were some of the best memories of their lives.

We get as many as we take, as many memories as we are willing to make. That is why following any good idea for adventure is the right thing to do with our time and money, and our lives.

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